Paintings and Passion
by lissianne
Summary: My undercover BAMDAMMMster prompt. A series of art thefts lands Captain Raydor and Lt. Flynn in an undercover operation. Will a brush with danger lead to a stroke of passion?


I own nothing of Major Crimes. I only borrow the characters from time to time.

This is my undercover prompt fic.

Paintings and Passion

He savored the sight of her from across the room. Dressed in a short black dress with heels that accentuated her perfectly sculpted legs, she flowed among the guests with the ease. With a touch of an arm, she would captivate each patron as she explained the painting in front of them. The wonder of every color, every brushstroke, every story the canvas told, reflected in her jade green eyes. If he was lucky, he would catch those beautiful eyes with his own, holding them long enough to create their own story, if only for a moment.

It could have been the perfect night, one of which dreams were made, except for the fact that they were working. A series of art gallery thefts had escalated to murder, landing them in an undercover operation. Chief Taylor had picked Captain Raydor to be the gallery owner, while Lieutenant Flynn mingled as a guest. Lieutenant Provenza and Buzz were in the surveillance van while Lieutenant Tao, Det. Sykes and Det. Sanchez waited in another vehicle to provide back up. The Captain and Flynn both wore one way wires. This meant they could be heard by those in the van, but they could receive no messages in return. A detail that left Sharon Raydor on edge.

Andy Flynn wasn't about to let work cloud the image before him. He relished every moment he spent with her, regardless of the circumstance. As he worked his way closer to her, he studied the young man at her side. He guessed him to be college aged. He was a rather bookish fellow with dark framed glasses and sported a bow tie and a cardigan sweater.

Her eyes searched the crowded room until she found him. She was well able to take care of herself, but the sight of him made her feel safe. He had always made her feel safe, in all of the little ways that said she didn't have to navigate life without a safety net. His gaze met hers, but only for a moment. A moment interrupted by the young man at her side.

He was incessant with questions about each painting. Sharon loved art, music, and dancing. Only a small amount of study was necessary to make her proficient in her knowledge of the scenes that hung before them.

Sharon wasn't sure if the young man, who identified himself only as David, was curious for art's sake or something more. While it was refreshing for a young person to take such and interest, it left her ill at ease.

As the gallery closed and the last person left, the only people that stuck in Sharon's mind were David and an older woman, Layne McGill. Mrs. McGill was the stereotypical socialite. Perhaps too much so.

Chief Taylor's plan was for them to stay inside they gallery for the night. The m.o. of the suspects was to attend a gallery opening, survey the paintings and alarms then break in later that night. Unfortunately, the owner walked in on the last robbery in process and was murdered.

Sharon began straightening up as Andy locked the doors.

"Here, let me help you," he offered.

As she handed him a tray of champagne glasses, her fingers brushed against his hand. With quickening pulse, their eyes met. He sat the tray on the counter and stepped closer to her. She leaned in, their gaze never wavering. They inched closer together, slowly testing the waters.

The crash from the back room jolted them out of what might have been into the reality of the moment.

With weapons drawn, they crept down the hall to the room in the back. The door was slightly ajar. Andy pushed it gently with his foot, as it creaked the rest of the way open. They found the room to be a studio. Judging by the canvases and easels, most likely for art lessons. An easel had fallen over, causing the noise.

Sharon walked around the room, picking up the paints, brushing her hand across the canvases, the look of longing in her eyes. Andy watched her quietly. So many layers to this complicated woman, he thought. He wanted to peel them away, one by one, until he knew the core of her being.

She almost forgot what it felt like to create, to hold the brush and let her soul flow onto the canvas. To pick up the charcoal and sketch the world only seen through her eyes, a world, as of late, she found had grown cold.

She turned on a light and picked up a pencil. "Sit down over here."

Andy complied, but questioned the reason.

"I want to see if I can still do it." She explained as she began her pencil strokes across the canvas. "Sit still and just look at me like you're looking now."

He watched her face radiate something he had not seen before. He felt himself drawn closer to her, like a moth to a flame. She soaked in his features, memorizing every line, every quirk of a smile, the way his eyes danced when he looked at her.

"Can I see?" He asked.

She motioned him to her. He looked over her shoulder, but before he could say anything, she took his hand and placed a piece of charcoal in it.

She directed his hand with her own, shading and detailing the portrait.

He drank in the smell of her. He nestled his face in her hair, his breath caressed her neck. She sank deeper in his arms. Slowly, sensually, each stroke on the canvas pulled them to a realm they had never entered.

She felt a shiver run through her body.

"Do you need my jacket?" He asked.

She turned to face him, "it's not from the cold."

He stroked her hair and pulled her to him. Their lips met softly and quietly, much like the relationship between them. Softly and quietly, while a fire burned hidden so deep neither knew it was there…until now.

As they broke apart, their lips almost touching, she asked, "have you ever wanted to paint?"

"Would you teach me how?" He whispered.

"I'll be your canvas," she said as she picked up a bottle of body paint. "Will you be mine?"

When the sunrise broke through the window above them, the rumpled clothes, forgotten wires, and entangled limbs were a testament to the night before. As they got dressed, she giggled, "I guess we have some explaining to do."

Andy pulled up his pants and buttoned his shirt. "I don't think it will be necessary." He said as he held up the wire.

She covered her face with her hands and laughed. "It was worth it. Whatever grief we get, it was all worth it."

They stepped out the front door to find the privacy sign from the department hung on the doorknob. The surveillance van was gone and Andy's car was parked in its place.

There was a note taped to the steering wheel. "Evidently, you chased the guy out the back door of the studio. Julio and Amy apprehended David McGill. We got a full confession plus arrested his mother as an accomplice. Tao is working on the electronics. He thinks the wire overheated and caused a power surge. Unfortunately it erased all of the recordings after the gallery closed. Now wash off your body paint and get in here, Taylor is asking questions." The last word was scribbled out, but she was fairly certain it said idiots.

Sharon and Andy sat motionless staring at the piece of paper. "I think we should do as the man says," Andy smirked.

"Of course, we do need to shower and get to work," Sharon agreed.

"It's the right thing to do," he said as he admired his artwork down her thigh.

"Your shower or mine?" she smiled.


End file.
